


The Harsh Light Of Another Sunrise (We're All Just Going Through The Motions, These Days).

by CescaLR



Series: The College years; or wherein Scott, Lydia and Stiles are flatmates, and the rest of the pack is suspiciously missing. [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, F/M, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Post-Alternate Season/Series 05, Post-Season/Series 05 AU, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, WIP, money issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Scott opens the fridge, and it only takes one glance to know they're out of everything except alcohol and dubiously in date takeout.He'd go grocery shopping if Stiles hadn't (apparently, now he checks... goddamnit Stiles) pilfered his wallet, and he'd still go - because they have five cards for the same joint account, in case of that very same situation - if Lydia hadn't maxed out their cards.All of them. Again.Scott sighed, closed the fridge.





	1. Fluorescence.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Before_i_sleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Before_i_sleep/gifts).



> wasn't sure what to write so decided upon continuing this little 'verse. warning that season five deviates from canon a fair bit.
> 
> Also, I've made this a gift for before_i_sleep because you've been super nice, commenting on everything and kudos-ing a bunch, so thanks! Have a fic. Lol.

Scott opens the fridge, and it only takes one glance to know they're out of everything except alcohol and dubiously in date takeout.

He'd go grocery shopping if Stiles hadn't (apparently, now he checks... goddamnit Stiles) pilfered his wallet, and he'd still go - because they have five cards for the same joint account, in case of that very same situation - if Lydia hadn't maxed out their cards.

All of them. Again.

Scott sighed, closed the fridge.

"Hey," Lydia says, enters the apartment from the fire escape. Scott blinks at her, momentarily surprised - Lydia hates using the rusted old thing - but recovers quickly, brushes it aside. "We're outta food again," Scott grumbles. "Any cash on you by chance?"

"Uh-" Lydia checks her pockets, blinks and then nods, reaches into her bra and removes a twenty. "Well." 

Scott resists the urge to close his eyes and pray to the heavens for patience - simply takes the offered bra money and moves to leave the apartment through the actual door. It opens before he has the chance, and before he has the time to be worried Stiles' head pops into the room, glances about and looks relieved when he sees the two of them. 

"Scott!" He says cheerfully, no sign of the migraine (hangover) he'd supposedly had this morning. "My man, bro - sorry about the wallet." Stiles tosses him the object in question and Scott opens it, puts away the twenty and isn't surprised that it's empty aside from Scott's own ID. Stiles enters the apartment proper, tosses a  _see ya, Cait,_ behind himself as he closes the door. 

Scott's wondering if he should just order delivery. It's not like they have enough for a proper haul anyway. 

"How's Jordan?" Stiles asks, moves over to the liquor cabinet and rifles through. Therein part lies the reason their fridge is empty; never trust Stiles or Lydia on a grocery shop - Scott's learned that lesson the hard way. "Happy with the arrangement," Lydia responds, collapses gracefully onto the boxes and cushions pushed up against the wall that they all figure works as a couch. Sort-of. 

Lydia flicks on the TV, channel surfs without paying any attention, volume low enough that Scott would have to turn it up if he actually cared about the programme or bit of news currently on the box. 

Stiles hums in understanding and stands up straight, a bottle of jack in hand. He snatches a tumbler from the cupboard and sits on the armchair they'd taken from his old house - which Stiles still owns but... well, Scott can understand why they aren't staying there (besides, the bills would be far too high for the three of them to pay) - and pours himself a bit more than you should, before placing the booze onto the coffee table Ms. Martin had given them as a housewarming present. 

"Anything we ought to know about on the police front?" Scott asks, ignores Stiles'  _'I have a police scanner, Scotty, we'll know without needing a channel to go through, stop worrying so much',_ and instead pays attention to his other (remaining) friend. "No," She shakes her head, the word drawn out as she kind-of sighs. Her tone is  _almost_ disappointed, and that  _almost_ makes him glad. he's already got one friend that gets far too excited when shit starts hitting the fan; he doesn't need another.

"Not much has been happening on that front lately." Stiles muses as he refills his empty glass. He tips it towards the TV in an indicating gesture. "I mean, nothing really all that shitty has been on the news that could mean supernatural shenanigans, and there haven't been any strange calls into the station or anyone radioing in with any kind-of-bewildered and terrified tones of voice, so..." Stiles trails off, takes a drink of the Jack and shrugs. "I just - I can't help but wonder if something's brewing, y'know?"

"That's because you're paranoid, Stilinski," Lydia breezes, but she's frowning at the TV all the same. Scott can barely pick out what the news reporters are saying - something about a robbery, maybe, and that... it makes him sad, because that's normal, human, and there's nothing the three of them can do about that kind of trouble. 

Lydia shuts off the TV, and Scott thinks she knew he was listening to it. That... happens a lot. 

"Well," Stiles changes the subject none-too-subtly, but Lydia looks grateful and Scott drops it. "Caitlin's dropped Mr. No-Name and has set her eyes on Sydney. Not sure if that's open or not but she's gonna try for it anyway." Lydia seems to rack her brain for the name; Scott recognises her as that girl that sometimes talked to the two of them back before Scott had been bitten. He hadn't seen her in a long time. 

"Oh yeah?" Lydia asks, "I think it's gonna be a closed or girls-only if she does go with Sydney." 

Stiles hums. "Well, she said it won't last that long if the girl wants much other than something simple and feelings-free, so we'll see." 

Lydia shook her head but didn't say anything. Scott thinks Caitlin's been afraid of commitment ever since her girlfriend died all that time ago, and he doesn't blame her. Scott hasn't had a steady relationship - or, in fact, any form of one - since Kira left, after all. He can't really say anything without being a hypocrite. And an asshole. 

"I need to go get some food in," Scott says, abrupt, and Stiles waves him off. Lydia nods, and Scott goes over to the door. Once, one of them might have come with him, or said something, or even commented on how abrupt that was - but they don't, and Scott really needs to stop living in the past. 

It's not exactly the most healthy thing in the world. 

"I'll be back in a few," Scott says, then exits, shutting the door soundly behind them. 

When Scott looks down, ready to put the key in and lock it, he sighs. Re-opens the door. "Knock next time," He tells Stiles, and stiles holds his hand out. "Not my fault our lock is shit and the keys don't always work," He grumbles, and Scott tosses him the lockpicks he'd just casually left in the door. "At least take them out, next time." Scott compromises, allows, and Stiles grins, and Scott - 

Whatever. If they get robbed, it's not his fault. 

(Not that they have anything valuable to rob - aside from the contents of Lydia's wardrobe - but still.) 

Scott closes the door behind him, and checks if the key works or not. Stiles was right, it doesn't, though that could easily be because the man in question broke the thing when trying to get in. Scott sighs, and adds yet another lock replacement onto their list of expenses, and goes over to the lift, calls it and waits.

He should probably have just left through the fire escape. 

* * *

When Scott gets home, Stiles is nowhere to be seen, and there's a note on the fridge in Lydia's handwriting. 

 _Gone out to see Jordan,_ She's written, and Scott takes it off the fridge, balls it up. 

_See you tomorrow._

He throws it in the waste bin. It falls among many of its brethren, empty takeout packaging, empty beer bottles and the occasional broken tumbler. 

They don't have much waste (because they don't have much in general) but what they have is rather... evident of certain problems the other two have that Scott doesn't. 

But that doesn't matter. Scott starts unpacking the food into the fridge, and starts - as he always does when he gets to this part of the routine - wishing they had a freezer. Alas, they don't, and so after Scott finishes putting away the perishables, he starts storing and replacing food in the cupboards, dropping the off and moldy into the shopping bag, before exiting the apartment and dropping it down the trash chute, along with the contents of their waste bin. Scott re-enters their apartment and drops the bin back into the corner. He has his shift at the vets in an hour, so Scott begins to get ready. Half an hour later, he drops onto the armchair and turns on the TV, towels his hair dry and drops the thing into the laundry basket (which is currently overflowing, he'll need to get Stiles to do that again soon). 

Scott settles down, sets his phone alarm for twenty minutes; he needs to drop by the pharmacy and make sure Stiles picked up his meds (he always does, but Scott - he's a worried kind of guy, and now that Noah-) on his way to work - and starts waiting, setting the channel to a random station and pays little to no attention to whatever's on.

(He takes time to think whenever he's alone in the house. Sort himself out and pull himself together and make sure nothing is slipping. Lydia does the same and Stiles does the same - just... in their own ways. He's sure.)

* * *

Scott gets back to the flat and sees Lydia struggling with the key. "Lydia," He greets, and she nearly jumps out of her skin as she spins to look at him. "Oh." She falters, loosens the tenseness of her frame. "Scott. Hey." 

Scott frowns at her but doesn't ask. It's not his place too. Not anymore. Not nowadays. 

It could just be that he snuck up on her. Scott might have been loud to his own enhanced hearing, but he could have been too quiet for Lydia to have registered him coming down the hall. 

(He'd allow that - it sounds true enough - if it weren't for the fact that the elevator in this building sounds like it's been around since before the invention of ovens. It creaks and groans and has this stupid tinny jingle every time it reaches a new floor even if it isn't stopping there. Which means it's not exactly the stealthiest mode of travel, is what Scott's getting at, and it means that if Lydia jumped at him simply saying her name because she hadn't heard him approaching she should have reacted even worse to the lift when it arrived at this floor. But she didn't.) 

"Is Stiles-?" Scott asks, or starts to, but Lydia shakes her head and interrupts him before he can finish. "No, no he's - out." She says (Lies, perhaps, but that doesn't make any sense because Scott can tell he isn't home; there's no fresh scent in the hallway - but why would she  _lie?)_ "With. With Danny," She continues, and her heart was already beating five miles per hour but Scott  _heard_ a skip, he knew he did. 

So Lydia really was lying to him. Scott's not sure if he should be surprised or not, or if he should be sad that he can't decide. Scott settles for pretending he didn't notice, and that works, because he's happy to see the tension truly leave his friend's shoulders. 

"Really?" He asks, grins, and goes over to help her with the door (and since it's broken anyway) - twists the knob and breaks the thing open from its stuck-shut position, holds it open for her then closes it behind himself once she's inside. 

"Finally caved, then?" Scott continues. "I wouldn't say that," Lydia says, "I mean, it's not like Danny never liked him."

 _Could've fooled me,_ Scott says, but only in his head,  _in fact, he did fool Stiles, if that's the case, so--_

"I guess," Scott says. "How long'll they be out for?" 

"However," Lydia dismisses, goes to the fridge, opens it, grabs a drink (you can guess what) and moves to get a bottle opener. "I mean, it depends on how the date goes, so we'll see if he shows up soon or late tomorrow. That'll be a good inclination."

Scott inclines his head. Grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with tap water, clinks his glass with her now open bottle. "Cheers." She says, and he inclines his head, takes a sip at the same time she does. 

"Well, I'm gonna go get changed," Lydia says. "Then I'll watch some TV, maybe take a nap. You should probably get some sleep." Lydia's eyes go soft - this happens a lot, too. "You look really tired." 

"Yeah, well," Scott shrugs, and he feels a little miffed, maybe. Stiles earns them money in his - ... own way, but Lydia - 

Whatever. It's fine. 

"How's the job search going?" Scott asks, and she wrinkles her nose. "Not great," Lydia says, "But I am taking courses at the college, remember, so I've gotta find a job that fits the time."

Beacon Hills Community College. For anyone who couldn't afford or couldn't get into any other college, and for those who can't leave town. Scott almost forgot she'd enrolled there. Now he kinda feels like a dick. 

"Yeah, of course," Scott says. "Take your time." 

Lydia smiles at him, softly, and Scott's still focused on that blip of her heartbeat. 

_What're they hiding from me?_

"Well then," She pats his arm, straightens out his sleeve in an act reminiscent of that one time she did similar out on the field, back when Allison was alive. 

Simpler times. Scott almost wishes he could go back, but they were different people then. He's not sure he likes who he is, who they are, now, but he definitely doesn't want to experience the sheer horror of those first few baddies ever again. 

Those first few deaths. 

Scott finishes his drink, drops the glass in the sink with a clatter. They really need to do the dishes. 

"I guess I'll go to bed then," Scott says, rolls his shoulders to get a crick out of his neck. Lydia smiles, and moves over to the couch and curls up on it, places her drink on the table. 

Scott looks away and enters the small cubby hole of a hallway, and takes the door in the middle - his room. Scott carefully closes the door behind himself, and the lock sounds loud to his ears. 

Scott wakes up to the whirring of the washing machine in the room to his left. So Stiles is back. 

Scott gets up, and Stiles isn't in the living space when he goes to the bathroom to get ready but he's there once Scott's done. 

"Hey, dude," Stiles says from the couch and Scott replies in kind as he tosses the towel into the laundry basket. "You know, if you used towels more than once we wouldn't have to spend so much on washing," Stiles grumbled, and Scott glances back. Stiles tips his beer towards Scott. "Then again, we'd have a lot more money if I let that cabinet get empty and Lydia didn't think her wardrobe needed re-hauling ever week or less." 

Scott was glad that Stiles was at least self-aware about all this. It's still... pretty sad, though. 

"How'd it go?" Scott asked, referring to the whole Danny thing, and Stiles shrugged, smiled slightly, took another swig. "Pretty well, I figure." He replied, nodding. "I mean, I still had his number from back in high school when we got paired up a few times for experiments and the like but the sentiment was appreciated."

Scott nodded and sat down on the armchair. He had another couple hours before he was due a shift at Deaton's, so he wasn't sure what to do exactly. Lucky for him, it was far too early for the club to be open - or any club, really - so Stiles couldn't drag him anywhere awful as someone to drive him home. 

Scott wasn't sure Stiles should ever be driving, but then Stiles - despite everything - still seemed to avoid tickets he should by all rights be getting, so that's that in the end. 

(Scott thinks the department pity Stiles. Scott thinks Stiles knows this, and as much as he hates it, Scott knows he'll use it to his advantage for as long as it will last.) 

(Stiles has never reacted very well to pity. Scott has never reacted all that great to how Stiles will sometimes use things like this in ways he really shouldn't.) 

(None of that matters though. Noah - well. It's not something they talk about. Or will, ever, talk about.) 

Scott takes the remote from the coffee table as Stiles stands, tosses the empty beer bottle into the bin and grabs the twenty from Scott's wallet. "I'll grab some stuff other than food; need anything?" 

Scott had a habit of only going food shopping. Scott shrugged. "Maybe a few razors, actually, yeah." 

"Noted," Stiles nodded and ducked out the fire escape window. The lock on that was much more reliable. Scott had wondered a few times now whether or not they should just block the front door and use that as the entrance. If it were only Scott and Stiles, they probably would have already, but Lydia lived with them and she despised the rusty old thing, and so the actual door was used. Despite how annoying it got. 

Scott turned back to the TV, and switched it off. 

Stiles sitting in the living space and reading the physical copy of the bestiary while drinking wasn't exactly new, but its frequency had increased as of late. Almost to the levels it was at back when Stiles was expecting something evil to jump out at them from every corner, every dark shadow, every back alleyway. 

Scott would've counted it for Stiles' paranoia at things having been okay for them for a while now, if it weren't for Lydia's lie last night, the increased amount of time the two spent away from the apartment, the lack of Lydia reading anything for her classes or working on any assignments. 

But Scott wasn't sure he even  _wanted_ to know. He'd lost a lot of people, by now - they all had. It was only a matter of time until the next big bad wanted to kill them all, and Scott wasn't sure how well he'd be able to handle that. 

Scott turned on the TV and skipped any news channels. He had a few hours to kill.

... Shit. He hadn't meant  _that_ pun.  

* * *

 

Scott's work was something he'd been doing since he'd been old enough to get a job. He knew what he was doing here, and he knew it well. It was easier than dealing with his job as an Alpha - it had proper rules, things you do and things you don't, how to deal with something and how to know when something can't be dealt with. 

Scott takes online classes so that one day he could be a proper doctor, perhaps even own his own veterinary practice. Until then, he stays as Deaton's assistant. 

Some days were slow. Like this one. Not a single person had entered the waiting area yet, and it's likely no-one will. As per Deaton's instructions, he tends to the animals in the back - feeds them, gives them water, checks up on the injured ones, yadda yadda - and once that's done, Scott goes back to the front and picks the sheet, checks for any appointments in his time-frame but there aren't any. Scott sits down on the chair, sits behind the counter and waits. 

The door opens and it's only Stiles, except it's not only Stiles - Lydia follows in behind him, and she's followed by someone Scott thought he'd never see again. 

Scott sits up properly, leans forwards onto the counter. "Liam." He says, and the teen sits across on one of the waiting chairs. He doesn't reply. 

"Liam wanted to tell you something," Lydia says, shortly. She's not angry with anyone - The woman's just annoyed at the world, from what Scott can tell, and she's taking it out on those around her with a sharp tone and sharp words. Something must have happened, Scott thinks, but he has no clue as to what. 

"Hayden and I are leaving town for college," He; Liam, says. "Boarding over somewhere else. Somewhere safer." 

Scott nods. They're not the first to do this. They won't be the first to stay gone. 

"And Mason?" He asks. Liam shrugs. "He's going away too, but Corey's taking the year off so." Liam shrugs, again. He... doesn't really want to be here. Scott's not sure if he wants Liam to be here either, but this needs to be done. "We're cutting ties," Liam says. "Hayden, me, Mason. With you guys." Liam tosses a bag to Stiles, who catches it - not that he should've, he should've fumbled, but maybe he was expecting it when Scott wasn't - and opens it, unzips the duffel and takes out the sword. "So you won't have reason to contact us," Liam says, and it's a final kind of thing but completely understandable. 

If Scott could, if he didn't have to stay here to protect his home, he would leave too. 

But he does. What he has left is here, he's not leaving. 

"I'll keep hold of it," Stiles says. Liam nods, and that's that. 

Anti-climactic, almost. They're just another four that have gone, for one reason or another. Scott - he's not surprised. 

Very few came back after they left. Most couldn't, or wouldn't, or shouldn't, and Scott gets that. It does mean he's down a couple betas, and that's... not amazing, but it could be worse. 

Liam could've brought Theo back, after all. Or took the sword with him. 

Liam stands, and Lydia hugs him, which he accepts, and he shakes hands with Stiles.

He turns to Scott, and nods. Scott nods back, and it almost hurts, watching the - well, no longer a teen go and wishes it did, but this has happened too many times now for Scott to feel anything more than almost-numb. 

The door swings shut. The other two mutter their see-you-laters and Scott mutters him, and they leave, and Scott gets up and turns the sign to closed. 

He goes into the back. Some of the animals need checking up again, and others are scheduled medication or fresh bandaging or  _something._

Scott... needs a distraction. Badly. 

* * *

 


	2. And Yet More Of This Very Same Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's got some work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plottttt~~

Lydia's life since she turned sixteen had been a downhill tumble, an abseil down a cliff face at breakneck speed, and quite honestly the past two years or so of nothing was welcomed. 

Lydia, as per usual, finds herself pulling up outside of Jordan's home, walking to the door and knocking once. 

As per usual, it takes very little time before the now-Sheriff is there, opening the door and beckoning Lydia inside. 

He takes her coat - ever the gentleman - as Lydia walks on inside as if she owns the place, makes her way into the Living room - right on schedule - and sits down on the right side of the couch, as she always does. 

Jordan sits next to her and smiles. 

Lydia does as well, in response. "How is everything?" Jordan asks. Lydia sighs, leans into him, and he puts a strong, comforting arm around her shoulders. "Tiring." She says, frowns. "Keeping everything from Scott..." Lydia trails off, half-frustrated with herself and half numb to it all. 

Scott doesn't need to know. Scott knowing... it could make things worse. 

"... I know." Jordan says quietly. Of course he does. Jordan's in the same boat as her, after all. 

Lydia swallows. "I don't want to think right now." She says, turns, places her right hand on his jaw. 

"Then we won't." Jordan reassures her. Oh, how lucky she counts herself. 

Lydia guides his head down, leans in for a kiss. 

 _They don't_ _think_.

* * *

Lydia always has her phone alarm pre-set to dawn. Most of the time, Jordan is up before her, but today, he is not. 

The curtains are open; the morning sunlight filters through to the bedroom. It's quiet, out here - Jordan lives on the edge of town, right next to the preserve - and the picture she see's is nothing short of beautiful. 

It's a shame she needs to leave. Lydia leans down, presses a soft kiss to his forehead, stands up and finds her clothes. 

After getting ready; dressing, drinking, eating, borrowing his spare toothbrush and using the bottle of deodorant she'd left under his sink - Lydia leaves the house, closes it quietly and goes to her car, starts it and drives off.

She's not going home, and she's not going to college. 

_They have some work to do._

* * *

Lydia meets up with Stiles outside the old Hale house. She shuts her car door and walks up to him. 

"Is she coming?" Lydia asks; to the point. They don't have the time or resources to postpone this any longer. "Yeah." Stiles nods. "Yeah, she'll be here." 

"Good." Lydia says. "We wouldn't have been able to afford her another return ticket for a while."

"Not with the way we spend." Stiles says drily, then nods to someone behind Lydia. 

"Malia." He greets. 

"Stiles." She returns. Lydia turns around. Malia's wearing a robe Stiles must have left out for her - it's likely the werecoyote ran here in full-shift form from the airport. "Lydia."

Malia doesn't smile to Lydia, and nor does she give any kind of expression to Stiles. This is quite honestly more kindness than they deserve, in truth. 

"Right." Stiles sighs. "Remember that I am one-hundred percent against this plan, and I reserve the rights to telling you all 'I told you so' after it fails miserably." 

"We need information only five people have." Malia says shortly. "And four of them are dead. Know any resurrection spells, Stilinski?"

Stiles scowled, sighed, rubbed a hand down his face in frustration. "Obviously not." He snapped, short, and this is -  _sad._

Malia pauses, and she softens, slightly. "...That was -" She starts, but Stiles has turned and stalked off before the coyote can get a word in edgewise. 

Malia looks over at Lydia. Lydia is having no part in this, except for the fact that bringing these two back into the same space was her idea. 

Lydia sighed. "We should..." She gestures, and Malia is off before Lydia can even finish her arm movement. Lydia huffs, then follows the woman into the burnt-down shell. 

The other two are in what was likely the living room when this place was still standing. Stiles slings a duffel bag off of his shoulder, then carefully places it onto the ground, retrieves a bundle of linens. 

Lydia takes her place on the left wall. Malia takes her's on the right. 

Stiles unravels the linens to reveal the sword, still sheathed in its scabbard. Stiles takes it, carefully, almost what you could call reverently, and drops the linens carelessly to the ground. 

"Alright," Stiles says, looks up at them, and Lydia is hit with that recognition that none of them are teenagers anymore. She knows this, quite obviously, but it's still strange when that sort of thing gets thrown in your face. 

"Last chance to back out." Stiles says. "Danny's working on finding the information his way; it's slower, but it's safer. We don't  _have_ to do this."

"We don't have time for  _slow."_ Malia snaps. "I'm missing someone.  _Multiple someones._  We're all missing someone.  _You're_ the ones who contacted me about it. We're doing this." 

Stiles breathes out, deliberately slow. "Alright," He agrees. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Stiles unsheaths the blade in a fluid motion, drops the scabbard and takes the sword in both hands. 

"Here goes nothing," He mutters, and plunges it into the ground.

* * *

 

Scott's day was as average as it can get for him. He worked his shift, he watched some TV, ate lunch, went out to - nowhere; biked as far away from Beacon Hills as he felt safe doing and drove back, he hasn't seen Stiles or Lydia, and now he's back at the apartment, and his day has gotten decidedly less average. 

Cora's in town. 

"Cora," He greets in surprise. They haven't spoken in years - and even back then, she was more likely to talk to Stiles than to Scott. More likely to avoid the both of them than that, but that's - kind of the point. 

"You should really lock your door." She says in lieu of greeting him back. Cora _was_ always straight to the point, if he remembers correctly. 

"It's broken." Scott said lamely in response. Cora nodded. "I was hoping Stiles was home. Obviously, I missed him." 

Scott - he didn't know whether to feel anything about that or not, let alone what feeling he'd have if he let himself. "I'm here." Scott says. "You can pass on your message through me, if you'd like." 

Cora looked agitated. "No, I -" She pauses. "It's specifically information I need to tell Stiles." 

"Oh." Scott does feel a little miffed about that, actually. "Alright then," He says instead of what he feels, because Scott's really too - tired to get into anything with anyone right now. 

Tired mentally. Tired of all the crap that happens to them.  _God,_ Scott wished he'd never bitched about this town being boring. Then Stiles wouldn't have tried to make it interesting by finding them increasingly illegal things to do, and then none of them would be a part of all this mess. 

It'd still be happening, though. Maybe he doesn't wish that, after all. 

"Look," Cora said, and she sounded exasperated. She stood, and twitched - glanced at the fire escape and the door, eyes darting about. 

Scott knew that look. That countenance. 

"Are you on the run?" He asked, because - well, she's certainly acting like it. 

"If you  _must_ know, yes." Cora says. "I risked coming back here because -" 

Again, Cora cut herself short. There's a pause, in which Cora appears to consider whether or not she should just shove past and run, but then she seems to remember he's an Alpha, and scowls for a second. 

"I can't stay here for long." Cora says. "My scent -"

 _Okay._ So she's not on the run from the human police, then. 

"At least, I think it's my scent..." She mumbles, but the rest of whatever she says is too low for even Scott to hear. "I need to talk to Stiles." Cora repeats. "How long do you think-?"

"I don't know," Scott answers honestly. "He could be a couple minutes or not show up until tomorrow morning." 

"And anything between," Cora nods. "I can't track him properly; his scent's been everywhere, recently, It's all - like a sludge; trying to wade through every instance of his scent to find today's." 

Cora's agitated again. Scott has an idea.

"Have a shower," He points to the second door on the left. "Use Lydia's stuff. Her perfume, shampoo; it's all scented. And her clothes, if you need to - disguise your scent."

Cora nods, slowly. "That might work," she says. "I haven't -  _seen them_ for a while. They could be far behind or -"

Or right outside. Scott can almost feel her paranoia creeping into his own head; insidious and insistent. 

"Don't think about that." Scott says. "Just. Shower. And wait. Stiles - he'll show up soon. I'll text him."

Cora looks at Scott warily. He knows she'll always have issues with trust - living like she has done - but he hopes he's proven himself adequately trustworthy so that she'll calm down enough to be coherent when Stiles does eventually get here. 

"Alright." Cora says, slowly, and with four last frantic glances to the escape routes and the entrance points, Cora disappears into the bathroom.

Scott lets out a breath. This was not what he expected his Friday evening to be like.

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure what to expect with the sword. He hadn't exactly been present when it had been used, after all, and so when he plunged it into the ground, Stiles was basically going in blind. 

Lydia had instructed him on how Kira had used it, but beyond that, she hadn't given many details. 

Stiles plunged the sword into the ground, and there was a burst of light - emanating from the sword, from what Stiles could see, cracks then spreading through the ground forwards for a - Stiles isn't sure the distance - and then they spread out width-wise, and then there's this  _sound,_ and Stiles is certain he is hearing the screams from the depths of hell. 

Personal hell. Theo's own little slice of the afterlife. 

Or... well, was it really the afterlife? Was Theo dead, or just in some other dimension? 

... Not the time, Stiles. He returned his attention to the hole in the ground. 

From it, a hand emerged - broke out, more like, emerging from the floorboards, and Stiles now has something in common with an ~~other~~ evil person. 

_Great._

Theo emerges, and he looks the same as he did when he was banished the first time, excluding the difference in physical age. Same clothes, the same state of decorum, same same same, as far as Lydia's descriptions told him, and Stiles can't help but stare. 

This is the man that ruined everything. Stiles hopes Lydia knows what she's doing. 

... Oh, and  _there's_ the anger Stiles was expecting. It's been a while since he's felt something that strongly, in all honesty, and it's - 

Something to latch onto. Stiles glares. 

"Well, this is unexpected." Theo says, looks at all three of them in turn. "Especially the person using the sword."

"It wasn't my idea." Stiles responds. "And I hate you, if you didn't already know, so be careful. I'm the one with the sword, after all."

"We have a few questions." Malia says. "And then you're going right back down into hell. Understood?"

Theo raised an eyebrow at her. "And what makes you think I'll tell you anything without something in return?"

"That's easy." Lydia put in. "Either you tell us, and we send you back, and the sword stays intact so that one day,  _maybe,_ if you're lucky, we'll set you free. Or, you don't tell us a thing, and we send you back, and the sword gets broken." 

Theo looked over to Lydia, cautiously. 

"How long has it been?" Theo says, looking to each of them in turn before settling on -

Stiles. Stiles continues to glare at him. "I'm twenty-one," Lydia said. "For us, it's been four years." 

Theo took a shorter amount of time than Stiles expected to process that. Likely so he can think about it later, Stiles figures. Still, though. 

"...Alright." Theo said. "I'll tell you if we change the terms of the agreement." 

"To what?" Malia asks, cooly. "You break the sword. And you don't send me back  _there."_ Theo says - the last word practically spat out, and Stiles - 

Stiles can see fear, in his eyes, in the way he shifts, can hear it in the tone of voice. Anger at himself for being afraid. 

Stiles grits his teeth, grinds them against each other then smooths out his expression. 

"Fine." Stiles said. "Tell us first."

Theo - he didn't laugh, but he looked amused. "You really think I'm that stupid, Stiles?"

"No." Stiles said. "But you're definitely not trustworthy enough for us to break the sword first."

Malia nodded - a little reluctant, a little unhappy. Stiles deserves that and more, truthfully. 

Theo smiled a little; properly. Stiles - he hadn't seen that smile since - 

Well. It doesn't matter. 

"You always were smart," Theo says -  _admiringly,_ and Stiles isn't touching _that_ with a fifty-foot molten iron pole he would be using to push it into the deepest depths of the ocean, never to be found. 

He's just not touching that _,_   _full-stop._

Theo nods, and starts talking. 

* * *

It's late when Stiles finally gets back to the apartment. "Hey," Stiles says "Lydia's staying at-"

Scott coughs, a little, and Stiles' head snaps up from where he was fiddling with his phone. 

Stiles blinks. Scratches at his jawline in confusion. "Cora." He says, just as surprised as Scott was - and Scott feels relieved about that. 

So Stiles isn't keeping anything from him. 

 _Not that you'd know if he was,_ a treacherous voice says in the back of his head.  _You didn't know about Donovan, about his mother, about -_

"Stiles," She says, relieved. "Come with me," She says, exits through the fire escape. Stiles glances at Scott, shrugs, and follows. 

Scott sighs, turns on the TV and drops onto the couch, turns up the volume. 

Cora wants privacy, about whatever she wants to tell Stiles. Scott - he'll give her that. Even if he wouldn't give it if the person wanting the privacy had been Stiles. 

* * *

"Scott's not listening in, is he?" Cora asks, harsh and quiet. They're situated in the back alley behind the apartment block, where the bins are. Nobody's here right now, and Cora seems to feel better about that than the alternative. 

"He won't." Stiles says. Tries not to feel bitter that Scott wouldn't give him the same consideration. 

It'd help if Stiles lied to him less often, Stiles knows. It makes it harder to feel bitter when you know you're the one who's always at fault. 

Stiles manages it, though. Somehow. 

Cora nods, believes him, and glances around before talking. 

"I know where _he_ is." Cora says. 

Stiles  _freezes._

"You found him?" Stiles asks, under his breath, incredulous and wide-eyed. 

"Yes," Cora says, and her eyes are wide, too. "I passed through a town a little while back and stumbled on into his backyard by complete accident. I _nearly_ \- he didn't know who I was - but I - you _had_ to know.  _It's your call."_ Cora says, and her eyes are wide for a wholly different reason now. 

There's a kind of - viciousness to her words. Stiles would kiss her for finding this out if it wouldn't have been entirely inappropriate. 

And he wasn't - he didn't have a  _thing_ with Danny. And occasionally Caitlin. 

Oh, who's he kidding? Stiles isn't in a closed relationship right now. Stiles feels - he feels bad about misleading Scott on that front, but Scott wouldn't get it. So Stiles doesn't lie and he lets Scott assume things. 

Stiles kisses her and hugs her, spins her around, and grins back at her. 

 _"Thank you,"_ Stiles says, cups her face, places his forehead on hers. 

" _Anytime,"_ Cora says, breathlessly, grinning up at him. 

"How about we plan some revenge?"

* * *

Malia stares across at Theo. 

Theo, who is currently tied to a chair, by the way, is not happy with this situation. 

For the most part, at least. He's glad to be  _free from her,_ but he's not exactly glad to be tied up.

Theo at least hopes they won't go back on their word, when it comes to breaking the sword. He's not optimistic; Theo's crossed them enough times that they'll want to put him on the other side for once, see how it feels, _how he likes it_ - 

But Theo can't go back  _there._ He  _can't._

Malia hasn't said anything for the last hour. Just stared him down. Theo - he's not used to this. Scott wasn't one for prolonged silences, and even if Stiles pretended to be able to ignore him, even just glancing at the other man could have gotten Theo an entire rant for no good reason. 

Well. For _some_ good reasons. Theo... had done some awful things. Some of which he regrets. 

_(Most of which, now. Does it matter? His eyes aren't blue.)_

But this? Stony, cold silence?

He'd - He'd only really gotten that from the Doctors. It is -

Unnerving. Theo shifted, involuntarily, in his seat, for likely the thousandth time this hour. 

Theo just wants this to be over. Then he'll finish school via the web, and then he'll go to college here, and then Theo will be  _gone._

Everything or person he'd wanted in Beacon Hills hates him or doesn't exist. And, really, all Theo wants to do now is to live. 

If only he can convince the others of that, then maybe Theo will get what he really wants. If not, then being forced to stay in Beacon Hills so they can keep an eye on him might not be so bad.

He could make it work. 

* * *

Malia wasn't sure why she'd accepted the ticket back to Beacon Hills. She'd been doing quite well in France, after all, and even if there was the occasional skirmish with a particularly overzealous hunter, she could always call Argent, as she'd been repeatedly reminded to do, and report the hunter in question once she'd detained them. 

They always justified the attack with her eyes being blue, with her being an omega, with her being a  _danger._

Malia is no more a danger than they are. Of course, none of them were apparently smart enough to understand what she meant by that aside from Argent, so that's that, really, and Malia has a good time. For the most part. 

There's just - something. Argent came to her first, about it - for a reason that Malia cannot fathom - and asked her if she has any gaps in her memories, if she's assigned a feeling or  _something_ to a person that it doesn't actually match, and Malia -

She'd had to think about it. And that was proof enough, really. 

And, sue her, but her curiosity mixed with the contents of the letter and her missing or confused memories and feelings and instincts - 

Malia took that plane journey. 

(So, in reality, that first statement was a lie.)

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually proud of this chapter, ngl. Took me, from, what - eleven p.m. until one-thirty ish in the morning to do, which isn't actually that long, and as far as grammarly says there aren't really many/any errors (and I'm too LazyTM to check myself) /and/ some stuff has actually happened in this chapter so that's good! yeah. yay?


	3. The End Of All Things (Is Not Far Away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~~  
> Scott went home. (Home, home. Not the flat; he went to his Mom's. Scott hadn't talked to her since last Monday when he'd gone to the hospital in order to give her some food during lunch and ask how she'd been, and Scott - 
> 
> Scott just wanted to see her. See someone that wouldn't turn him away for the mistakes he'd made, for the mistakes that others had made.)  
> ~~~

Scott groaned as his alarm beep-beep-beeped. He rolled over, checked the time and groaned again. Scott loved his job, but the days where he had to get up at five - he didn't like those.

Still. Scott grumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed after kicking off his covers, and got ready. It didn't take him long, and when he went into the kitchenette he spied Cora on the couch in one of Stiles' T-shirts and a pair of Lydia's shorts (a pair Scott hasn't seen her wear since the first time she'd worn them.)

"Hi," Scott says and Cora nods to him, likely already aware of his presence. "Scott," She greets, continues flipping through TV channels aimlessly. 

Scott doesn't really know what to say. The last time Cora had been here was as part of a group of reinforcements, and the most they'd talked was assigning her to her place in their plans. 

(Their  _battle_ plans. Scott - Scott hadn't killed anyone, and as far as he knows, none of the rest of the pack had. But, well.  _As far as he knows.)_

"Did you tell Stiles what you needed to?" Scott asks, finally, after some deliberation. Cora nods, once - and Scott drops it. Scott fills a bowl with cereal, milk, then grabs a bottle of water and goes to sit down on the armchair.

"How long are you planning on staying?" Scott asks. "Not long," Cora says. "I need to get as far away from  _them_ as I can. Maybe even sneak out of the country."

Scott frowns, slightly. Illegally crossing borders is a little difficult, as far as Scott's aware, and he's not sure how she'll manage it.

But then again, Cora's gotten to South America from North America. She's spent a lot of time in a lot of countries without any documentation, without a passport and without anything to her name - so Scott figures if anyone can get out of America off to Europe or Africa or wherever, Cora can. 

Cora frowns over at him, and Scott smooths out his expression. He's not - he's not judging her, but Scott doesn't know if Cora will understand that. All he is, is - well. 

Worried. 

(He's worried, is all.)

Cora stops looking at him askance and returns her attention to the news. "Stiles went out," She says. "Lydia said to tell you she's at college. And, uh, Malia's in town."

Scott  _freezes._ Some cereal drops from his spoon back into the bowl, and he stares at Cora. "She is?" He asks, bewildered. As far as Scott knew, Malia had vowed never to set foot back in Beacon - and quite honestly, he didn't blame her. 

She'd been done dirty by life. Scott thinks she's got the most reason out of all of those that have left to have done so. 

(Even if he hates thinking that. Chris' loss, after all, is not a small thing easily brushed under the rug.)

"Yeah," Cora confirms. "She's staying at - at my old house." The house that would have been Malia's, in another life, Scott knows. Scott had always wondered which Hale had been her father - because the Desert Wolf hadn't bothered to remember, and well. There was no asking her who it was now. Considering. 

But perhaps - and Scott hates thinking this, again - perhaps it was for the best that Malia had been adopted. After all, she would've been in the house at the time of the fire if she'd stayed a Hale.

And then, well. Scott figures that she'd have died that night. Even if her life hasn't been the best, Scott knows she's glad that she got to have one.

Still.  _Staying at the Hale house._ Scott knew another Hale that did that, and he'd not been in the best mindset at the time. Scott - Scott hopes they haven't driven Malia in the same direction; their choices and her life. 

"Well," Scott said, appetite now fully gone, "I've got work to go to, so make yourself comfortable, alright?" He said. "If you want, you can use Stiles' laptop. The password is stuck to the underside of the second drawer in his bedstand." 

Cora nodded. Scott binned the rest of his cereal, dropped the bowl and the spoon into the sink, and left through the fire escape. 

* * *

Malia frowned over at Stiles. "Are you sure?" She asked, and Stiles didn't deserve her concern. "Yeah." He nodded, tone heavy. "I need to ask him alone, Mal-Malia."

Malia closed her eyes, brief and fleeting, and Stiles' heart  _hurts_ _._

This hurt. What happened between them. 

"I'll be outside," Malia said finally. "I'll - go for a run."

Malia fled the house then, robe dropping and shifting quick-flash into a full coyote, and Stiles lost track of her moments later. 

Stiles stared after even so, for a minute or more, perhaps. After, he collected himself, and turned, entered the living room and walked over to Theo. He removed the other's noise-canceling headphones, turned off the music on the shitty old laptop that housed the Hale's bestiary (which Derek had found inside one of the steps ages ago and had left behind because they'd need it more than he would) and turned back towards the other man.

"So you're going to talk," Stiles said. "And then I'm going to break that-" He pointed towards the sword that was laying across the mantlepiece - "And then you're going to stay in Beacon Hills so that we can keep an eye on you, understood?"

Theo nodded. Stiles folded his arms. "So start talking."

Theo sighed. "I... I don't know much about Garret Douglas." He said, finally. "I know that the Dread Doctors kept him locked up, and I know that his blood mixed with - whatever was in that tank was the serum that I used to revive the chimeras, but - well, we're all out of that." Theo says, frankly, "So if you're looking to revive someone, there's none of the substance I used left."

Stiles refused to react. He swallowed mentally, minutely, and stared off into the distance, eyes hard - but he would  _not_ give Theo any indication that he'd hoped maybe,  _perhaps -_

"He was a Nazi." Theo continues. "And he's a - in simple terms - werelion." 

Stiles nods, stiffly. "His mission was to find a myth. The Wild Hunt, as far as I'm aware."

 _Riders on a storm,_ Stiles thinks, recognition flashing in his eyes, and Theo nods. He smirks slightly,  _fond,_ and Stiles sneers (slightly) and looks away. 

"So..." Stiles leads, and Theo shrugs. "That's it." He says. "He's weak to anything a were is usually weak to, nothing specific like wolfsbane - hence the name - but there are a couple things."

Stiles stares across at Theo. Theo doesn't continue. 

Stiles sighs, grabs the sword and holds it carefully in both hands.

"Well?" Theo asks. Stiles places the sword tip on the ground, and Theo watches warily. 

"Finish, and I'll break it," Stiles says. "Don't, and, well..." Stiles taps the sword against the ground, one, two,  _three, four -_

"He needs to breathe helium." Theo rushes out, "The Doctors mentioned it - if he ever got out, he'd need to breathe helium every now and again unless he wanted to suffocate. It's like a really specific asthma."

Stiles nodded, gestured for Theo to go on. "He eats part of his victims, though I can't remember which part it is. He eats the one that's said to house the soul in certain belief systems - or a certain belief system, but I don't know which." Theo finishes and then nods to the sword. "That's all," He says. "Now,  _please."_

Stiles stares across at him - sees him now, as he his, sees him as he was, then (at five, at eight, at seventeen-) and can't bring himself to send him back, but can't break the sword either. Stiles lifts a floorboard, one behind Theo so he can't see which, and buries the sword in a convenient ditch. 

Stiles isn't sure how he knew this was there, but -  _he won't question it._

Stiles goes over to the duffle bag, grabs another bundle and returns. "That was a fake sword," Stiles says. "Interrogation tactic." Stiles isn't sorry, so he doesn't say he is - but he  _does_ lie. Because that wasn't a fake sword, (and they both know it.) Stiles removes the fake sword he'd gotten made, uses it to free one of Theo's hand and gets him to hold the pointy end, and then Theo grabs, hard, and bends it - bends it some more -

It  _snaps,_ a harsh sound, and Stiles takes the other piece, wraps them back up and places it to the side. 

"Do they know about that?" Theo asks. Stiles knows him to be referencing the fake sword he'd just broken - Stiles knows him to be asking if they know that Stiles kept the real one whole.

"... No." Stiles says, tone heavy, words final. "No, they don't."

* * *

 

Lydia finds college to be entertaining in a fleeting way - Lydia knows she would have loved this a few years ago, but she's three years older than most of the others in the first year, and Lydia knows this to be obvious. Knows them to be people who knew her as 'that crazy girl' from way back when, knows them to also know her as 'the old queen bee (that fell from grace)' and knows the stares she gets like the back of her hand, because she's gotten them for years now, and she will continue to get them so long as she lives in Beacon Hills (heck, even so long as she stays in Beacon County), so long as she dates the new Sheriff and so long as she's  _Lydia Martin._

Lydia's taken half of these college people to bed, at one point or another in the last four years. (So long as they were of age.) There's just another reason that they'll remember her. 

But Lydia's with Jordan now, properly. Perhaps it's cruel, however, even so, she ignores those that she stood up and those she slept with and those she flirted with and sticks to the library, sticks to Caitlin and Danny and Sydney and stays away from the crowd of people who know her _intimately_ but don't  _know her._

Lydia's got class soon, she notes as she checks the time. Lydia says her 'see-yous' to Caitlin and Sydney and leaves the library, goes down the hall and knows she will arrive earlier than the rest of her classmates ever would.

* * *

"So." Stiles turns, looks to Theo. "You and Cora can take the spare rooms, I'll take my old one when I'm here. Cora, you keep an eye on Theo please."

"Sure," Cora nods, gives an askance glare to Theo before jogging inside, up the stairs and into one of the spare bedrooms. 

(Spare now, anyway. Nobody's around to sleep in there anymore, and Stiles isn't about to let his Grandfather anywhere near his house, so no. Nobody's around to take that room now its occupant is-)

Stiles takes a deep breath, calming, counts  _one, two, three,_ and ignores Theo's  _look._

"Well then?" He snaps, glares, and perhaps he couldn't ignore it (because when has he ever been able to) and feels  _angry_ at that, at everything, at  _him,_ for a long, fleeting moment. Stiles grabs the bags from the back of his jeep (still running, despite everything) and takes them inside. Theo walks in after him, and Stiles shoves the lighter bag of the two at him. "Here," He grunts. "Spare things. Scott doesn't need to know you're here, so wear them. They'll stink less of  _you."_

Stiles turns and jogs upstairs, tries to leave Theo in the dust but the other man follows just as quick, and Stiles mentally sighs. 

"Go set yourself up," He dismisses, and Theo nods, leaves for the other spare room.

Stiles relaxes, slightly, and enters - enters the first spare room.

"Hey," He says to Cora. "Some stuff."

He drops the bag onto what is now Cora's bed, looks around the room (that hasn't changed one whit in the last three-and-a-bit years and holds back any and all emotion he might feel about that) then turns his attention, fast as he could, over to Cora.

"So, uh, you alright to get yourself settled in and to keep an eye on Theo tonight?" Stiles asks. "Because I can always tell Scott I'm elsewhere and get Danny to back me up-"

 "We'll be fine, Stiles," Cora reassured in her usual flat manner, and Stiles half-smiled in response; a small, thin thing. "Thanks," He said, hesitated - Cora was the one to move over, to press a brief kiss to his lips. "Go on." She said, smirking. "Go visit your boyfriend."

Stiles snorted. "Sure, sure." He grinned. "I'll tell Danny you said hi."

Cora smiled, nodded, and Stiles left the room.

He was met with a Theo, in particular, a Theo with a raised, questioning eyebrow.

Stiles vehemently did not want to deal with his shit right now. He scowled in Theo's direction, and that only appeared to make the other more amused. 

"A Boyfriend?" Theo asked. "Did I miss something?"

"You missed a lot of things," Stiles said drily. "How was hell?"

"Painful," Theo said in response. 

Stiles shrugged. "Oh well," He said, flatly, turned and left the house. 

Theo stared after. Stiles glared ahead and ignored him (as best he could.)

* * *

Scott wandered into the clearing of the Preserve that held the Hale house, walked up to the door and knocked, hesitantly. 

"Scott," Malia answered the door, glanced at him, looked him over. "What are you doing here?"

Scott could ask her the same question, but really whatever Malia is doing back is her business. Scott in all likelihood shouldn't have visited, however -

He just... wanted to make sure she was okay. She's his friend, first and foremost, and Scott doesn't - he doesn't want to lose that to something as preventable as distance and time.

"I heard you were back," Scott said, instead of anything else he could have. "I just, well, I thought -"

"It's good to see you," Malia says. "See that you're alive and well but..." Malia sighed, hesitated, and played with the belt of her robe - Scott felt bad for coming here, now, felt bad for making her talk to him. "Go home," Malia said finally. "Go home, Scott."

Scott didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could say or if he should say anything at all.

So he didn't. 

Scott went home. (Home, home. Not the flat; he went to his Mom's. Scott hadn't talked to her since last Monday when he'd gone to the hospital in order to give her some food during lunch and ask how she'd been, and Scott - 

Scott just wanted to see her. See someone that wouldn't turn him away for the mistakes he'd made, for the mistakes that others had made.)

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit since I last put up a chapter. Classes have started up again, so I'll have time during winter, but I'm not sure about how much I can do during Jan, maybe It'll be until I've gotten back into the groove of things, but we'll see. 
> 
> Early Merry Christmas, btw, haha. Hope you all have a good holiday!


	4. Iridescence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh," Lydia says. "That's... not good."
> 
> It's perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go.

Cora doesn't know what they are, exactly. The people - the things that she's running from. All she knows is that they've been following her, that storms are ominous, and to stay the hell away from rural areas. They'll find her easier, there. 

So here she is. In a backwater in the ass-end of California known as Beacon Hills, Beacon County, simply to help - a friend. Someone important. 

Cora had been in Detroit when she'd found him - the [Löwenmensch](http://teen-wolf-pack.wikia.com/wiki/L%C3%B6wenmensch). She'd been running, at the time - a wendingo, Cora remembers. She'd mistaken a wendigo for some normal guy, some normal motel owner, and that had been a nearly fatal mistake. The next nearly fatal mistake was running into the backyards of some middle-class looking houses, vaulting into the third one along. 

That had alerted Douglas. Cora was lucky, though; he didn't know who she was. Didn't know her ties to Stiles; to the son of the man he'd killed.

Cora stalled for long enough that the wendigo caught up with her. Douglas got distracted by the vicious creature, and Cora escaped before either could bring her into the fray. Cora's just a beta - she stands no chance against two older, more powerful people.

No longer a teenaged beta, but still a beta. Cora's never even been to  _school,_ at least as far as she remembers. 

Although that whole happening was a mess of near-fatal proportions, Cora's almost glad it happened. Douglas likely sustained injuries, the wendigo likely stopped killing innocent motel guests for a glaringly obvious reason, and Cora found him. 

Found Noah's killer. She'd made her way as fast as she could back to Beacon Hills, because despite how much Cora didn't want to go back there after last time - she shouldn't have even gone then - Cora had to tell him. She wouldn't be happy with herself if she knew where Douglas was and never told Stiles - Cora couldn't do that to him. 

So here she is. Babysitting the infamous Theo Raeken and helping Stiles plan revenge. Cora still jumps at shadows - because she's still being hunted - but for now, Cora thinks - hopes, at least - she'll be safe. 

_For now._

* * *

Detroit. 

Stiles didn't know where in Detroit, exactly, he was - but that was where he was. Cora had said so. Cora - she didn't know Detroit all that well, really, and Stiles couldn't fault her for that, so they were going off of her limited awareness of the area. It doesn't help that she'd stumbled there at night and in a panic - Cora couldn't remember any landmarks of any kind. Just that it was the third house on a row. And near enough to a motel for the wendigo to have deemed it worth it to chase her. 

Danny was a blessing in this, really. Not - not that he knows exactly what they're planning. Stiles will brief him on it, he will just - not until they're fully prepared.

He might convince Stiles to not do this. And Stiles - he's heard that enough times. From - everyone, really. Well. Not everyone.

Cora's fine with it. As much as Stiles hates to think this, in that he's thinking it at all - Malia... she probably wouldn't. She hadn't with Donovan (even if that's a little different - nobody treated it like it was. Nobody. The only people that did are gone. Even if only one of them is -)

So Stiles started spending less time in the apartment. Talked to Scott often enough, sure - but more and more over the phone, text or call. More and more Stiles would spend his night elsewhere, more and more he wouldn't leave a message taped to the table or the fridge. Stiles stored less and less alchohol in the apartment, and slowly but surely -

Left. Scott's still got him - Stiles would  _never._ Not if given a choice. But Scott - 

Scott doesn't need to know. Not about this, not about the other things; Cora's problem, the fact that they've all forgotten  _something._

Stiles isn't naïve enough to think that what Scott doesn't know can't hurt him - not anymore. He learnt that lesson a long time ago. No... what Scott doesn't know, Scott can't  _stop._

* * *

Malia approached Stiles' old house from the back, entered with the key he'd never moved from underneath the third rock, buried slightly down, in a box, with a passcode.

It was safer than just putting a key under a rock, Malia knew. Malia hoped that in the intervening years they hadn't changed the code - and it looks like that's the case, because the box clicks open and Malia is free to retrieve the key. She does so, unlocking the door before putting it back, locking the box and replacing the rock - then, Malia enters the house.

Malia can hear two people. Cora and Theo, she thinks. Hopes. Malia doesn't want Stiles to be -

Here. Not home; it's not his home anymore. Malia needs to remember this. 

(God... she wishes she'd done something. Malia wishes she - she hadn't  _left.)_

(That's not the first time Malia's thought that - it is, however, the first time in a while. In  _years._

Malia knew coming back was a mistake. She did it anyway, and now she's facing the repercussions.) 

Malia walks through - Cora nods to her, and she nods back. Malia goes upstairs, treads the familiar path and leans against the doorframe. 

"What're you doing in here?" Malia asks - she's too emotionally tired to demand. Tired of all this, of Beacon Hills, of loss and a lack of memories. 

"Snooping," Theo says, drops the yearbook he holds. 2006, it says, and Malia vaguely remembers something about Stiles helping figure out the kanima's master with it. "Stiles wouldn't want you in here." She says. It's - flat. Theo picks up on that, because of course he does.

Malia - she'd have a talk with Stiles about freeing this asshole if she wasn't avoiding him. As it stands, she sends mental messages along the lines of 'what were you thinking?' 

"Are you here to ask something or just stare?" Theo asks, tone dry, and Malia scowls momentarily before talking. 

"We've forgotten something. All of us - some of us more than others. I was wondering if the Dread Doctors said anything about that."

"Not the Dread Doctors," Theo shrugs, picks up an old T-shirt, frowns and throws it into the hamper. "Douglas."

Malia frowns. As far as she knows, they never met. "What-?"

"Hold your horses," Theo smirks, as if he found something funny just then, and Malia scowls at him. He sighs and carries on, and Malia looks at him weirdly when he continues throwing random bits of old clothing into the hamper. Theo shrugs. "I'm bored." He says, then continues explaining about the whole 'Douglas' thing.

Malia knows who Douglas is. Noah's dead because of him.

"Riders on a storm." Theo says. "Those who erase the memories of the Damned - in the way that erases _them._ From reality."

Malia swallows. Theo nods, for once grave about something that affects other people - Malia thinks it's only because it could affect him too.

 _The Damned._ They're all damned. Malia, Stiles, Theo - whoever is already gone - they're all damned. Scott's probably the only one they'd leave alone.

"The Wild Hunt," He starts up again, "varies over different mythologies, I guess. I've heard about it from a lot of places - the myth is that they take people. And they do... but they erase the ones they take, too."

"How do you stop them?" Malia asks.

"You don't." Theo says.

* * *

Isaac doesn't know how long he's been here. It's - a train station, he figures. It looks like one, anyway. Isaac's never been in one, but he's seen them on film. Suffice to say, he's not an expert, but he thinks he knows what he's talking about.

Regardless. Isaac doesn't know how long he's been here.

He's on a bench. He's got nothing aside from what he was wearing - his ID is in his back pocket, and his phone must have fallen at some point because it isn't in the other one. Isaac isn't hungry, thirsty, tired - he just... is. It's a weird feeling, but Isaac gets the idea that he's not going to feel hungry, or thirsty, or tired. Not while he's here... wherever 'here' is. 

There's a man that Isaac vaguely recognises on a bench to Isaac's left. Isaac frowns, and he's - kind of bored. Kind of lonely. So Isaac gets up, goes over and -

 _Oh._ It's  **him.**

Isaac had forgotten about him. But the memories came flooding back, and Isaac -

Isaac could do without a psychopath for company. Isaac walks away, and has a gander at the timetable. 

_Beacon Hills: ETA - 13:41, sunday._

Isaac doesn't know what time it is - his watch isn't working. He doesn't know what day it is, either... but Isaac figures sunday is probably soon, if it doesn't have the date following. 

There's no train in the station. Isaac... he hopes that that isn't ominous. Isaac finds a bench, one where he can keep an eye on the timetable - and sits. Waits.

For what, he's not sure. There's this - sense of anticipation in the air - and the board changes. another place; Detroit - they've gone through it. Arrived. Visited.  _Erased._ Or not? That keeps flickering. Isaac hopes something isn't messing with the supernatural force that is this train, because who knows what could happen. 

Now that - that's ominous. Isaac shifts in his seat. 

He might have no choice but to enlist the help of the ex-alpha. Isaac's odds aren't exactly looking good right now.

* * *

 

Lydia gets home, and Scott's watching the news. 

"Anything happen?" She asks, then turns - sees his face. Paleer than usual;  _scared._

"He's back," Scott says. "Douglas. He's back."

Lydia takes out her phone, sends out a group text.

_Douglas is in town. Now's your time, Stiles. Don't ruin it._

"Oh," She says, quiety, before calling Jordan - he needs to be notified, needs to know to keep this down-low, needs to know to let Stiles and Cora handle this. "That's...not good."

_It's perfect._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> proper plot in this one! Hope you enjoyed :D


	5. Fear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a war in Beacon Hills.  
> ~~~~~~  
> "Fine." He said, short. "I'll cross your stupid barrier."  
> ~~~~~~  
> "You need to get out of here."  
> "Hello to you too, Stiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo, we get some past time stuffs in this one!

_Beacon Hills, March Third, 2014._

* * *

 

"Scott?!" Malia called out, sprinting through the underbrush, crashing through the preserve. 

"Malia!" She heard a cry in the distance. A roar followed; the sound of bullets  _bang bang bang._

They were here. The hunters. 

Malia lept forwards, across a ditch, shifting into coyote form mid-jump. She'd learnt that last year when the Dread Doctors were about... after she'd gained her mother's power. 

(The claws worked. But they'd killed her to do so.)

After she'd landed, malia ran full pelt at one of the Hunters, snarled and tackled them, clawed at their face before moving on. 

(They wouldn't die. Probably. There's a heartbeat, but Scott's in danger. She - Malia will get him out of here. He doesn't need to know.)

"Malia!" She heard again - relief - before he threw another hunter at another tree. A thud and the man went down like a sack of potatoes. Unconscious, of course. He'd be back again the next fight and the fight after that.  _And so would they all. Until the end of this, one way or another._

(Malia had thought of him as a man. _Hah._ Not a man. A teen, like herself; barely out of high school. She'd had maths with him during summer school. They'd passed notes. He hadn't graduated like Malia had. Malia wonders what he would have done with his life if he'd followed his dream of getting out of this nightmarish town.)

Malia ignores him (Scott, the summer-school boy) and runs at the last hunter, growls and they flee, drop their gun and run. They won't be in the next fight, but they might be in the one after that. 

Malia thinks she saw a girl under the hood, but who knows.  _They didn't know, back then, what they were getting into. Malia knew - of course she knew. But these kids... they did not. And they paid for it._

Malia shifted back, turned and frowned at Scott, who threw her a dress from his backpack. Malia pulled it on, all the while still frowning at him. Waiting.  _For orders. By then, Malia might as well have been a soldier._

_(This had been going on for months, by this point. The Dread Doctors died, and they'd had maybe a week or so before the first hunter attacked. Afraid._

_After all, they didn't know what the chimeras were. That they were more science than supernatural. All these hunters saw were fangs and glowing eyes, and they pinned the blame on the heroes._

_As mobs always do.)_

"Have you seen Stiles?" Scott asked, and Malia's back stiffened but she shook her head. "He's still arguing with Noah about the necessity of certain actions," Malia informed him. "Cora's backing him up... the only good thing is that Stiles stopped Liam from bringing back the dead."

"Theo," Scott clarified, mostly to himself. Malia nodded all the same. 

"Yeah." Malia sighed, relaxed slightly - still on alert, still aware of her surroundings. 

( _Malia had been ambushed before. After all, this isn't some simple skirmish. It also wasn't something that had rules. Against people like Malia, people like Scott, and those that associated with them (Stiles, Noah, Melissa) people didn't think war crimes applied. Or even basic human rights.)_

"And the Calaveras?" Malia asked.

"Chris and his men - the ones that agreed more with Allison's ideals than Kate's - are negotiating," Scott told her. "But, as it stands, all we've got is a 'no interference' deal, which Chris hasn't taken because, well, these negotiations are interference. He wouldn't be able to help if he agreed, and we don't want that." 

Malia sighed. She wasn't one for politics - much like Braeden, Jordan, Liam - point her in a direction, and tell her what to do. Malia doesn't have the patience for much else. 

( _They might as well have been called soldiers, but they weren't soldiers; they didn't have the mindset. Malia wasn't truly able to kill without thought, and she wasn't able to take all orders without question. And she didn't have enough to keep her there. Keep her in the fight.)_

"Anything else?" Malia asked. Scott was who she got her information from, these days. 

"The tribunal is still quiet," Scott said. "Chris suspects either a takeover or the small children in charge putting their fingers in their ears and ignoring the problem."

Malia nodded. "So," She stood a little straighter. "Anything you need me to do?"

Scott looked - a little sad. "Try and contact Isaac again, please," He said. "He should be here in a few days, but I need to know his location, just in case." Malia nodded, and Scott carried on. "Ask Kira about her whereabouts, and see if Derek will answer your calls. And -" Here, Scott paused.

"What?" Malia asked. "... Nothing," Scott muttered. "Sorry, just - forgot what I was going to add. Doesn't matter. Anyway, that's all."

Malia nodded. "Oh and - Lydia asked you not break her dress. Again."

Scott smiled ever-so-slightly, and Malia chuckled a little. A little humourlessly, but a little all the same. 

"Sure thing," Malia agreed.

Scott turned to leave as Malia dropped the dress and shifted. 

"Oh and Malia?" Scott asked, not expecting an answer. "After that... you have a choice, you know."

A choice to stay or to leave. Malia knew that - and she was gone from the clearing before Scott could turn around and make her answer. _Make her choose._

_(In the end, she chose to leave. Stiles had broken up with her months prior, she hadn't spoken to anyone other than Scott in what felt like forever, and Scott - well. That had been a one time mistake. They should never have done it, but they did. And Malia couldn't stay while aware of any of this.)_

* * *

_Present Day_

"He's here?  _Now?"_ Stiles demanded of Lydia once she'd gotten into his old house. Lydia blinked at him, then raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Yes..." She affirmed, dragged out. "This is bad because?..."

" _Because we're all here!_ " Stiles exploded, then started pacing, back and forth, up and down the hall. "You're here and Cora's here and Malia's here and Scott's here and Melissa's here and Danny's here and Cait's here and  _we're all here."_

Stiles turned back to Lydia, near rounded on her, and she lifted her chin up slightly, glowered at him minutely. 

Stiles didn't seem to notice. "He can get leverage," Stiles muttered, almost to himself. "He could kill any one of you, don't you get that?"

"But he's on  _our_ turf," Cora pointed out. She's leant against the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen, sandwich in hand but likely forgotten. "And?" Stiles demanded. "Turf he knows, remember? The exact same turf, might I add, where he  _killed my dad."_

There was silence, for a beat. A long, extended pause. 

Stiles hadn't said it out loud since... well. Suffice to say, the immediate few months after Stiles' dad died were -  _volatile._

Then after that - for a while, Lydia almost hadn't recognised him. It took about half a year for him to start acting even remotely like himself again... and Lydia knows Stiles. He's a good actor. ( _And they'd all been fooled.)_

Stiles made a noise of sheer frustration and anger, as he turned around and -

Punched the wall.  _Great._ Lydia didn't move from the front door, but Cora sighed and walked over to Stiles, who was leant against the wall he'd just slammed his fist into. 

Cora placed a hand over his, firm and unyielding, to stop him from repeating the motion. 

"The point is," Cora started, "That we don't have to worry about where he is now. All we need to do is plan a trap that ends in his death, and then -"

"Move on with our lives?" Stiles asked, rhetorically, tone bitter-cold. "Yeah. I got that memo."

"Then what's the problem?" Cora - well, it was hard to tell with Cora. Lydia supposed that with anyone other than Stiles, that question would have been ruder. But Cora (apparently) has a soft spot for Stiles, so what she asked wasn't demanded. 

It wasn't softly spoken, though. Cora's not exactly the warm hugs and friendliness type is all Lydia's saying. 

"Would it surprise you that I might just be a little worried that he might kill someone else, did that cross your mind?" Stiles asked, acerbic and frustrated and annoyed and angry and a whole slew of other adjectives that Lydia could go on forever with, but Cora spoke before she could continue that thought. 

"Yes," Cora said, short and flat but caring. But  _Cora._ "Don't you think I am too? You seem to forget the person he's most likely to want to kill next is you, Stiles; so that you don't go getting any ideas about reporting him to the authorities."

"Oh, I know that," Stiles muttered, darkly. 

"You are  _not_ being the bait," Lydia said, hotly. Told him, really - Cora might not demand things of Stiles, but Lydia sure isn't going to sit idly by while a dear friend (and occasional bad choice - due to the circumstances (Lydia couldn't blame Malia for not wanting to talk to her) - for a drunken lover) was going to offer himself up as the potential next meal for a cannibalistic nazi werelion. 

(God. _Cannibalistic nazi werelion_. Lydia cannot believe her life.)

(It's far too much like a horror movie for Lydia to ever truly consider all of what's happened as reality. Sometimes, Lydia really does expect to wake up in her bed with Jackson like before all this went down, and sometimes, she's horribly disappointed when that doesn't happen, if only because it means nobody she knows is actually dead.)

(Unfortunately, they are. 

_Even now, Lydia misses Allison the most.)_

"What other choice do we have?"

"Me," Cora offered, reluctant. "Which I'm vetoing immediately, by the way."

Stiles nodded, and side-eyed Lydia as if she was about to reject Cora vetoing a plan that would probably end in her own death. 

Yeah, no. Lydia doesn't really know Cora very well, but that doesn't mean she'd offer her up as bait for any stupid plan they come up with. They usually fail, anyway. 

"Any other brilliant plans?" Lydia asks, and Stiles shrugs. 

"We could always just tie Theo to a chair again." Stiles mused. "Douglas might want to kill him for what he knows, after all."

Lydia paused, cocked her head.

"Uh, no." Lydia heard from the stairs. Stiles sighed, long-suffering. "I thought I told you to stay put?" Stiles asked, irritably. "I got bored," Theo shrugged, walked down the rest of the staircase and stood with them, completing the square. 

That sounded like something Stiles would have said, to Lydia. Stiles must have thought similarly because he glowered at the chimera. Theo smirked, slightly, and Stiles bristled but turned his attention to Cora. 

Didn't rise to the bait. Lydia supposes he's got worse and more attention-taking things on his mind than Theo Raeken right about now. 

"Cora?" He asked, and she shrugged. 

"Back to the drawing board, then," Stiles sighed. Lydia narrowed her eyes at him; it had been a little  _too_ easy to convince him not to use himself as bait. Though Lydia would like to think it's because he knows his own worth... she rather thinks he's just lying. It sounds more like the Stiles she knows, anyway.

"Anything I can do to help? Aside from being bait?" Theo asked, added the second part as he looked pointedly at Stiles, who scoffed and rolled his eyes but considered the first part genuinely. 

Lydia didn't really understand them very well. Of course, she knew they were friends back in the day; when Theo lived in Beacon Hills and they were all small children and nobody was dead and very little hurt. 

Theo's sister died the winter after fourth grade. Stiles' mom had died the summer prior. There's a weird kind of symmetry, there, but Lydia isn't a huge fan of English. She couldn't tell you what that means (though she could if she studied it for long enough.)

(Lydia is, after all, a genius.)

"I suppose." Stiles sighed. "You are, after all, an annoyingly good liar."

"Much like yourself then," Theo retorted, and Stiles didn't appear to have an answer for that. 

(And, despite the fact that Lydia's a genius - she wouldn't in his place, either.)

* * *

_July ninth, 2014._

 "You need to get out of here."

"Hello to you too, Stiles." Danny frowned across at the other man. Man now - no longer are they teens, mere high school students. Danny's going to college now; he's visiting home to see his family and be there for his little sister's birthday, and he frowned at Stiles because, well, her birthday is tomorrow. He's not just going to get up and leave without any warning for no apparent reason, no matter what the werewolves are up to. 

He'd stayed when Miss Blake was murdering people. Danny will be fine for a single weekend. 

"You think that," Stiles said in response to Danny, once he'd told him exactly that. "But then you get shot for fraternizing with the monsters and suddenly nobody but Melissa will give you any medical aid, and she's not a surgeon."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Danny asks, doesn't demand, doesn't snap - he's not that kind of guy. He genuinely wants to know, because he probably had misjudged the situation. Danny's not exactly privy to all the details, after all. He probably has no idea of just how bad it's gotten. 

"Leave," Stiles advised. "Take your family for a little while, visit somewhere; like a summer vacation. Just - get the hell out of Beacon Hills, at least until this all blows over."

Stiles didn't look so sure that it would blow over. He had dark eyes from a lack of sleep and a deep bruise on his left forearm that wasn't hidden by his flannel shirt. There was a bandage-type-thing poking out from under his collar, and he had the look of a Stiles that had missed one too many doses of both his Adderall and anxiety medication of the day.

(Which, by the way, wasn't as insulting as it sounds, Danny might add. Stiles actually did change up his anxiety medication because the Xanax made him more tired than usual, evidenced by the fact that he had actually fallen off of his chair in Chemistry from something other than clumsiness more than once back in high school. Granted, for all Danny knows he's found something more permanent, but then, as far as Danny could tell he'd not been following his medication's usage guidelines properly for a while now - if his countenance was anything to go by. It usually was.)

"I'll see what I can do," Danny acquiesced; the party would simply have to be replanned. His family tended to listen when Danny told them they needed to hike it out of town quick-as-they-could... perhaps his family wasn't as ignorant as they led on, or perhaps they simply trusted Danny's judgment. 

Stiles looked relieved. Danny thought it was probably more to do with not needing to worry about this civilian family on top of every single other family that stubbornly stayed in Beacon Hills despite its high death rates. 

"Thanks, Danny," Stiles sighed out, closed his eyes briefly. "If we see each other again... let's hope it's after all this is over." And with that dramatic line, Stiles left Danny's house. How he even got in is (not) a mystery, (after all; it's Stiles) but Danny won't question it. 

"Hey, mom?" He asked, having called his mother. "We need to get out of town for a while..."

* * *

_February Tenth, 2014_

"Lydia!" 

Scott sprinted fast, footfalls hard on the solid concrete. He barreled into the hunter that had ambushed them - barreled into him hard, launched him at the brick wall opposite. 

Lydia, now with space to breathe,  _screamed._

Scott, calmer now, checked the teen's pulse. "He's alive," Scott muttered, then turned back to Lydia. "We need to get you to Deaton's, now."

"God, I hate that they got the hospital," Lydia groaned from between clenched teeth. The Hunter had broken her arm - Scott knew some things they could maybe do to set it, but they didn't have the right kinds of painkillers or any form of numbing anything that could help smooth out the whole process.

"C'mon," Scott helped her to stand - as she'd fallen, Lydia had twisted her ankle. Lydia winced but held strong, as Scott helped her hobble towards her car. "I'll drive," He said, unnecessarily, and helped her into the passenger seat, before he went to the driver's side and got in. 

After some slightly-over-the-limit driving, Scott helped Lydia out of the car and into the vets. 

"Mom!" he called out, and Melissa came from the office, face worried. "Lydia," She breathed, "Oh, come on, let's get you sorted." 

Scott helped his mother get Lydia into the makeshift medical room and then was shooed off so that Melissa could do her work. 

"Find Stiles, would you Scott?" Melissa asked. "Noah -"

"Yeah, I know," Scott nodded. Stiles' dad had got them all learning how to shoot,  _just in case._ Stiles' day was today, but he likely just forgot. He hadn't been getting much sleep, lately, as far as Scott knows - and, on top of that, the drugstore's stopped giving him his prescription. 

So. That's fun. 

"Did you get ahold of any Adderall? Xanax, or  _something?"_ Scott asked, slightly desperate. He needed Stiles in top form - they all needed to be in top form. If they weren't, they weren't going to fare well if they were caught unawares. 

"No," Melissa sighed. "They've stopped letting me in."

Scott closed his eyes. "Stop that," Melissa commanded. "None of this is your fault."

"She's right," Lydia sighed, then cried out.

"Grit your teeth," Melissa advised. "This is going to hurt."

Scott reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, which made Lydia relax. "There you go," Melissa nodded. "Thanks, Scott." She added, and Scott nodded.

"I know," Scott sighed. "But it's just so much of a mess."

The silence was damning; to that, they agreed. 

* * *

_?????_

Isaac wasn't sure how much time he passed trying to think of ways to get out of this place without drafting the psychotic Peter Hale, but, alas, he'd come up short a while ago.

Now, Isaac was just trying to get him to look at him. Or do - much of anything. At all.

"Oi." Isaac snapped. He'd lost all patience a while ago, but he's still hesitant to physically touch him. Who knows, the man might literally bite his hand off. 

"Peter. Hale. Peter Hale, hello?" 

Still nothing. Isaac grumbled and dropped onto the bench. 

"You aren't gonna get him awake that way," Someone said. 

Isaac span around. It wasn't anyone he recognized - just a boy. A teen, a few years Isaac's junior, perhaps. "Who are you?"

"I don't know." He said - and Isaac could hear his heart, unlike the other occupants of the benches. He wasn't lying, or at least - Isaac figured he wasn't. 

(There is, after all, always the chance this kid knew how to regulate his heartbeat.)

"He won't know who he is, either." The teen added. "He's been here longer than I have. I was from Detroit," He explained, "That guy, from what I can tell, came from Beacon Hills. Which they hit a while ago."

"They?" Isaac asked. 

"The riders." The teen explained. 

"Helpful," Isaac returned, snide. "Anything else?"

"The riders are our way out," The teen said. "Or, at least, they're your way out."

Isaac narrowed his eyes at the boy, who shrugged. "I'm not going first, who knows what could happen to me?" he pointed out. "You've been growling and punching walls in your frustration; there's obviously something about you that I don't have myself. Maybe it'd guarantee your survival when crossing the barrier."

Isaac frowned at him. "What barrier?"

"That one -" The teen pointed to the tracks. "The riders appear there, every now and again. I haven't paid enough attention to see the pattern. The point is, they can cross over. Ergo... you hitch a ride."

"I'm not sure that's how you use Ergo," Isaac said dryly, "But sure. Let's say it works. What next?"

"All I'm asking is that you try. You can't die here, as far as I know - believe me, the conscious ones have tried at one point or another. No, you can't die here. So the worst that could happen is you're disintegrated upon crossing over, and since it's either that or joining the riders - as I've seen happen... I honestly don't know how you missed that - there's really no choice in the matter."

"I want out of here," Isaac said. "I don't want to die for it."

"We don't have any choice. You know it's been a few days since you started trying to wake him, right? He's. Not. Waking."

Isaac grimaced and looked away, snarled minutely at thin air. 

"Fine." He said, short. "I'll cross your stupid barrier."

* * *

_Present Day_

"Scott!" Lydia exclaimed, breathlessly, as if surprised by his presence. 

In their apartment. On the couch that he helped make. 

Scott frowned at her, minutely, and - 

there. A blip in her heartbeat. Either she's scared or - or she's about to lie, or  _something,_ but Lydia's definitely acting... weird.

To be frankly honest, Scott's found that they've all been acting weird lately. Lydia's been avoiding him rather blatantly, Stiles (and Scott will commend him because it happened so gradually Scott didn't notice until he was gone) has moved elsewhere and only calls him these days, instead of talking to his face. He gets Malia - she's not acting weird, she's just... well, an estranged friend might be the best, if saddest, term here - and Cora is Cora. So, really, it's only Lydia and Stiles that are acting weird, but it's still - 

Noticeable. 

"Hi." Scott said, and Lydia - winced. Minutely, but she winced. 

"I was popping in to get some clothes," She rushed out - "Why are you sitting in the dark, exactly?"

Or. Well. It could be that, too. 

"It's not that dark to me," He pointed out, amused, before turning on the light switch. "Oh joy," Lydia muttered. "The superiority of werewolf senses shows itself yet again."

Scott snorted. "I'm not the one with the ability to tell the future." He grinned, and Lydia shook her head.

"Oh well," She sighed. "It'd be a tad too fresh to say 'at least there aren't hunters after me', wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Scott said, lightly, "But if we can't joke about it what can we do?"

Lydia shrugged. Yeah, Scott felt the same. 

"... How'd Stiles take it?" Scott asked. 

"About as well as you'd expect," Lydia said. "You should talk to him."

"Yeah," Scott muttered. "Where is he?"

"Just call him, Scott," Lydia said, exasperated. "You have a phone, don't you?"

She closed her bedroom door, and Scott was left standing in the box-shaped 'hallway'. 

Yeah. That's all he'd been using, as of late. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks are kinda fun. Also, this is consistently past tense! I think. Whoo? (you can probably tell, but I generally have trouble keeping in the one tense. My writing likes to wander between the tenses - which, fine, whatever, but sometimes you need only the one for the story you're telling, you know?)


	6. All is lost; nothing is gone. (Everything that leaves can be found. Except this.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anuk-Ite," Deaton said, placing documents onto the table - drawings, transcriptions of people recounting their experiences, grainy photographs from many, many years prior.

_August Fifth, 2014_

"You must have a good reason for bringing a Traitor in here," Araya Calavera said, dangerously. 

"I am no traitor," Deaton said, smoothly, "Just a man with knowledge that he wishes to pass on."

"Bah," She spat. "You're a  _druid._ Knowledge is something you _never_ share. Especially not with your fellow humans. No, you'd rather work with the monsters."

"Araya," Chris said, placatingly - as best he could; Chris was never the placating type, and he lost his patience with this woman  _months_ ago. "At least let Alan explain."

"Fine," Araya said, nodded once - short, annoyed. "Well?"

"The Anuk-Ite," Deaton said, placing documents onto the table - drawings, transcriptions of people recounting their experiences, grainy photographs from many, many years prior, and some that were more recent. None of them, however, were clear, "Is an ancient shape-shifter, a creature of disharmony. It can turn neighbour against neighbour, sowing the seeds of discord and hate.

"It doesn’t need fangs. It doesn’t need claws. It uses something far more sinister. When paranoia turns to anger, anger turns to violence, and entire communities tear themselves apart. The creature feeds off the fear and grows more powerful." He explained. Deaton stared, beseechingly, across at Araya. "All we ask is that you aid us in defeating this creature," He said, "And that you treat those that are attacking the supernatural beings of Beacon Hills the way you would, knowing that they are being controlled by something outside of themselves. Something sinister."

Araya stared suspiciously across at the two men. "And how am I to know that this is what's happening there?" She demanded. 

Chris threw a photograph at her - she caught it, glared momentarily, then looked at it. 

"One of the supernatural teenagers - a werecoyote - caught this on his phone as he fled the school," Chris said. "The werewolf; Quinn, and the human; Aaron, were the two halves the Anuk-Ite chose. They're no longer halves. The being is whole... and that is why we need your help, now more than ever."

Araya stared at the blurry image - but the contents within were recognisable. She looked between it, and the other pictures, and the drawings, and then glanced over the written encounters... and nodded.

"I will send in a few men," She allowed. "And I will send a lawyer along with you to the tribunal. Once this is all over, these children are going to need to decide which side they're on."

Chris nodded, stiffly. Inside, he was relieved. "Thank you," He said. Deaton nodded, and the two men were lead out by two Calaveras. 

Araya picked up one of the older transcripts, and started to read. 

* * *

_August third, 2014_

"Stiles," She said, on the other end of the call. "Yes?" He asked, wary. Her tone had been urgent. 

"It's your dad," Deputy Clarke said, and Stiles  _froze._

"What-" He asked. 

"Get here," She demanded. Scared, worried. "Now."

Stiles didn't need to be asked twice. He got into his jeep, and he drove. 

\---

He was too late. "Dad!" He called out after he'd burst into the Sheriff's station. "Clarke! Parrish! Strauss!" Stiles continued - Clarke rushed forwards and dragged him by the arm into the back. Stiles saw all the damage that hadn't been there yesterday or even this morning; tables toppled, bullet holes, fuck even  _scorch marks -_

"What happened?" He demanded. Strauss, gun in hand and a bit of ripped shirt tied around his arm, caught up with them. "We were attacked," he said. "Bound to happen some time, but-"

"Dad," Stiles said, numbly.

"Yeah," Strauss said. "Where?" Stiles demanded of Clarke, who said - "His office."

Stiles ran. 

\---

"He was here," Strauss said, as Stiles dropped to his knees beside his dad. "Dad," He said, urgently, " _Dad,"_ he repeated, and grabbed the man's hand. 

"Douglas was here," Strauss repeated. "We - we didn't stand a chance."

Stiles' blood ran cold. He lifted his dad's head and - and -

"Fuck," Strauss breathed. His voice was strained. Clarke paled and dropped down to her knees on the other side of the Sheriff. 

Stiles' breathing came quicker. Quicker.  _Quicker -_

"Stiles," Clarke said, wide, teary-eyed - " _Stiles-"_

"I gotta," He managed, "I -"

Stiles dropped his dad's head, gripped his hand with white knuckles. 

"Breathe," Strauss said, crouched down near to Stiles. "Count your breaths, remember? Breathe."

Stiles couldn't. His  _dad_ was  _dead_ and  _been eaten._

Stiles couldn't breathe. 

* * *

_????_

"Alright," The boy from Detroit said. "It's time."

Isaac looked up and over to him. "Now?" He asked. "Yeah," The teen confirmed. "Now."

Isaac nodded and stood, walked over to the train tracks. 

"Five," The teen started, low enough to be unnoticeable but loud enough for Isaac to hear. They'd practised this; they'd had to. 

"Four," And the wild hunt were riding towards the barrier.

"Three," Isaac dropped onto the tracks.

"Two," The teen's voice was more urgent now, as Isaac got ready. He couldn't miss this moment. 

"One!" The teen nodded, eyes intense - and Issac jumped, grabbed onto the last rider's horse, dug his claws into the Rider's back... and went through the portal. 

The teen from Detroit nodded to himself, turned and frowned at Peter.

"Now," he muttered to himself. "For you."

* * *

  _Present Day._

Stiles glared at Theo. "What are you doing in here?" He asked, suspicious immediately. 

Theo shrugged externally. "There's only so much of being cooped up in a guest bedroom that I can take, Stiles," He said, truthfully.

It had been - harder to lie. Since he got back. Theo didn't quite get that, but he could work with it. 

Stiles' eyes were still narrowed in his direction - and, yeah, Theo would have once used that paranoia to his advantage. But he'd... kind of messed that up, that manipulation, and now the adult across was far more likely to punch him than ask questions, and that...

That's not - helpful. Not anymore. 

It was when he'd needed Void Stiles for his plans, but he just... doesn't. Any longer. He doesn't really have any plans, in all honesty. He'd wanted power, sure - and Theo isn't about to say he wouldn't still like it - but... his priorities have changed. Now it's more about staying alive than anything else.

Staying away from  _there._

"Sure," Stiles said, dubious in his agreement, "Then why didn't you go downstairs?" He asked. 

"You don't want Scott to know," Theo said. "So being downstairs would be counter-productive, yeah?"

 _not really_ goes unsaid, but Theo can see it in his eyes. In the way that his jaw tightens and he sneers ever-so-slightly for a split-second. 

"Or not," Theo mused, turned around and dropped the T-Shirt he'd found on the floor (crumpled and genuinely awful smelling) into the hamper. 

"Why are you doing that?" Stiles asked, genuinely bewildered. Theo can kinda get that - Stiles probably can't smell what he can. 

"Boredom," Theo said, "And the fact that my sense of smell hates your house."

Stiles snorted. Rolled his eyes. "Fine," He said. "Whatever."

Stiles dropped into his desk chair and spun lazy circles. He was tired, Theo could tell, but Stiles wasn't about to go find somewhere to sleep. Too wired, too stressed. Too angry. 

"Let me clarify that I am  _not_ being the bait," Theo said referring to their previous conversation. 

"I figured that myself, thanks," Stiles muttered, stopped spinning and turned on his laptop. It was an old thing, Theo could see plainly - old and cheap and very much one he'd taken from the Sheriff's department. It had the databases on it; Theo knew that because Stiles had them open.

Noah's login hadn't been deleted, then, Theo surmised. He didn't think it ever would be. Out of respect. 

A spike of anger, then a lack of feelings. Tired, Theo knew. But numb, too. 

"It doesn't mean I won't help," Theo said. "Yeah," Stiles said, as if that was obvious, "Because you don't want to be put back into that sword. Not helping is a surefire way to make that happen."

"I thought you broke it," Theo said, smirking. He knew full well they didn't break it - but Theo knew having the sword was useful, as much as he hated it. If they ever needed to put someone away, it was useful to have. Especially if that someone wouldn't be able to be contained in any other way; if even death couldn't hold them. 

Stiles rolled his eyes again, spun his chair around to face Theo. "Yeah, no, that's not true," Stiles said. "You thinking that." He clarified. 

Theo shrugged. 

He changed the topic. 

"It's late," Theo said. "Should probably get some sleep."

"Then go ahead," Stiles said. "Your room is down the hallway." 

"Not me," Theo said. "You don't just look tired, Stiles." 

Stiles scoffed. "And let you do something evil while I'm asleep? No thanks," He said. Theo raised an eyebrow. "Cora's here to keep an eye on me," He reminded Stiles. "And I trust that," Stiles said, "But not while I'm sleeping."

"Then go to your apartment," Theo said, exasperated. 

"And lie to Scott's face? I've had enough of that, thank you," Stiles muttered. All of that lying had been because of Theo himself, and these days, Theo's not so sure of how he feels about that. 

"Fine," Theo sighed. "Whatever."

Stiles grunted. "If you want to be useful," Stiles offered, reluctant, "Try and come up with some plans for Douglas?"

Theo nodded. "Paper?" He asked. Stiles opened a drawer, and Theo nodded. He took some paper, and a pencil, and got to work, after sitting down.

"Get off my bed," Stiles said, not even looking in Theo's direction. Theo chuckled, and dropped to the floor beside the bed, and leant against the bedside cabinet. 

* * *

 

 


	7. Opalescence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott was patrolling the woods when it happened. He heard it, rather than saw it; it was like a sound he'd never experienced before. Like - something otherworldly, something strange and too... something for him to describe. But - it sounded like... like a beacon of some kind like it was shouting 'I'm here! come find me!' and Scott, ever the hero, couldn't help but follow the call. 
> 
> And Scott - Jesus. He's so glad he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mhhhhhmmmmmm so sorry it's been way too long but I hope this is any good and I'm so sorry dear lord.

"I think I've figured something out," Theo said. "What?" Cora asked. The five of them were standing around Stiles' kitchen. There was paper strewn everywhere, the plans for various things throughout the town splayed over all available surfaces. They'd been coming up with plan after plan after plan for Douglas, but none of them seemed - viable.

"Poison him," Theo said. 

"The helium," Stiles realised. "Poison him - replace the helium, or poison the helium. Kill him via an inability to breathe."

"That could work," Lydia said, musing. "I know of various gases we could replace it with - I'll have a look, see if I can find some. I have various ideas I've wanted to research for a while, I could send some letters out and perhaps a few curious enough scientists will send me the resources I'll need. Bribes can only help," She added, as an afterthought, "So I'll ask my mom for some cash. After what happened, she's only too happy to."

Lydia, perhaps unconsciously, raised a hand to rub at the side of her head. It had been two years, give or take, but Eichen house had still taken its toll on her. Even after the first time she'd been put in there - her mother, perhaps due to the Anuk-Ite or perhaps her own issues, hadn't decided to keep Lydia as far away from there as possible.

Rather the contrary. 

Malia softened, ever so slightly, but she didn't move to comfort the banshee. Stiles sighed and looked - well. As guilty as he always did when reminded of that time. 

"Great," Cora said, unaware of either of Lydia's visits to Eichen. She'd left before the first, long before it... and she'd left again before the second. Cora never stayed anywhere very long, after all. Understandably, but... well. 

Still.

"Okay, so, poison the helium," Malia said. "Great. Will that kill him, or...?"

"Eventually," Theo said. "But I was actually thinking it'd give us an opening."

"To kill him... personally?" Malia guessed. "Yes," Theo said. "To kill him personally. 

Stiles opened a drawer, grabbed a gun and tossed it onto the table. "I call dibs." He said, flatly. Malia opened another draw, tossed a few knives onto the table. "I'll poison it." She said. Noah was Stiles' dad, but - he'd been like family to her, too. Even if that had ended abruptly when she and Stiles broke up... Malia can't help but want revenge. 

"So that's decided then," Lydia said. "Theo and I will plan. You two will... execute."

"Great," Stiles said. "Let's get started, then."

* * *

Scott was patrolling the woods when it happened. He heard it, rather than saw it; it was like a sound he'd never experienced before. Like - something otherworldly, something strange and too...  _something_ for him to describe. But - it sounded like... like a beacon of some kind like it was shouting 'I'm here! come find me!' and Scott, ever the hero, couldn't help but follow the call. 

And Scott -  _Jesus._ He's so  _glad_ he did. 

Scott barrels through the undergrowth towards the sound - it changes, morphs; his focus lets him hear it, that shift, and he pinpoints its location just before the sound -

Cuts. Abruptly. Scott swears and pours on the speed, and he arrives in a clearing - a recent clearing, Scott shivers; he was there when it was made... - and sees -

Someone. A body, a man, no older than Scott but taller. Pale, curly-haired. 

Familiar. Scott can't place him, not yet. Scott gets closer, crouches next to the man - wait. 

Scott knows that face. He does. From - 

"Isaac." Scott blinks. Yes, that's his name. How did -

"Isaac," Scott repeats. " _F- **Isaac."**_

He'd forgotten Isaac. How'd he-?

"Scott," Isaac manages. "Fuck. That  _hurt."_

And the man passes out. Scott breathes, attempting to calm himself, then picks the taller man up, easily, and starts the long trek back to his house. 

Isaac is burned.  _Horribly._ Scott knows how to treat burns, minor and major, but not ones to this extent. His mom should be able to do something, though. She'll know someone who can, at the very least. 

* * *

_?????_

"Finally," A voice says. Peter - and yes, Peter knows, that is his name, Peter Hale - blinks, slowly, awareness a creeping thing, something that catches up with him at a snail's pace - but. Eventually -

"You're awake," The voice says. Male. Young. By scent, no older than fifteen. 

Peter doesn't really remember when he was that young. So much has happened since - it hardly matters what his life was like back then. Hell, he barely even remembers when Derek was that young. Nothing important happened until the boy was sixteen, anyway, and by that point - they were all doomed. 

"As is plainly obvious," Peter states, blinks, and looks at the boy. Brown hair, pale skin, brown eyes, short, and otherwise very generic. Peter doesn't know him, the Hale knows that much. "And who might you be?"

"No-one important," The boy says. "But - Alex. Alexander Diggory."

Peter stands and looks around. "Peter Hale," Peter says, smoothly. "Where might we be?" He asks.

"Train station," The boy says. "The Wild Hunt took us. Pretty lucky that I'm a mythology nerd, in all honesty, or I'd have no fucking clue what's happening."

"Indeed," Peter states. "And what it is you wanted from me?"

"I know a way to escape," The boy says. "It'd kill me. But I was hoping we could strike a deal." The boy stands. He's rather short, shorter than even that teenaged beta Scott had gotten himself. "I tell you how to get out," The boy says. "And you make sure those bastards get what's coming to them."

"I imagine you want out?" Peter asks.

"I'm just a runaway," The boy says. "Nobody out there to forget me. Nobody out there to remember me. But  _you."_ The boy gestures to the board. "Beacon Hills. Word travels, you know. Peter Hale, that's not a name I haven't heard before."

"I see," Peter says because he does. "And what do you know about me?"

"The more people there are to remember you, and the more resilient you are, the more likely it is you'll return alive," The boy states. "At least, from what I've gathered. The point is - you'll get through, and you'll survive the process, and once through, you won't fade. The Peter Hale I heard about interfered far too much with people's lives to be forgotten without some serious holes in various people's history."

Peter smirks. "Say your theory is correct," He ays, "How am I supposed to leave this place?"

"Hitch a ride," The boy says. "We don't have much time. It took way too long to wake you - they'll be here soon. I don't know when your next chance will be."

"You lie," Peter says. "But I suppose there's no time like the present."

"There's no time at all," The boy says. "No past, no present, no future. Not here." He pointed to a few people - Peter noted a few very outdated styles of dress, some he'd seen in person and some he'd only seen in pictures, paintings... and some he'd never seen the likes of at all.

"Everyone they've ever taken is here," The boy says. "Past, present, and future. Once they're gone - I imagine these lot will go back to wherever they were taken from. For better or for worse."

"Worse?" Peter asks.

"They take the damned," The boy says. "Runaway. Murderer. It's all the same."

"How very black and white," Peter says. "Alright then. Tell me how I need to do this."

The boy nods then starts explaining his plan. 

* * *

_Unspecified Date, Sometime in late 2015._

"The third Tribunal meeting regarding the Anuk-Ite's invasion of Beacon Hills, Beacon County, California, USA, in the [redacted] Headquarters. This audio recording is for archival purposes only. Sensitive information is redacted. Excerpt seven."

"We cannot get involved!" "You say that, but you saw how they delt with the Alphas, the Darach - the Dread Doctors. We  _have to_ get involved; they won by the skin of their teeth each time!"

"They indeed fought terribly, but they  _fought,_ and they  _won -_ and the important part here is that they  _won._ We can't waste our resources somewhere with adequate protection! We're spread thin as it is - half our Hunters are rogue, the rest are dealing with that coven in England, that Nogitsune-Celestial Kitsune alliance in Japan, the wendigos across South America and Mexico -"

"Yes, we're spread thin, that's what I've been saying the whole time! We have enough monetary resources to at least send aid our side's way!"

"We do not and you know it!"

"Silence! We are here to discuss the logistics of sending medical aid, nothing more, nothing less. Continue."

"I believe they need  _at least_ that," "Indeed, agreed-" "So do our men in Japan, but we haven't sent them anything!"

"SILENCE!"

"No, you sh-" 

"This meeting is  _adjourned._ We will reconvene on the [ _redacted_ ] please make certain you are composed and your arguments sound and fact-based upon this date.  _Dismissed."_

"End of Excerpt Seven. End of meeting."

* * *

_August 7th, 2013._

"I was drunk. He was drunk. I'm so  _sorry_ Malia but-"

"Save it," Malia said. "Save it. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Lydia said. "I - I had - we -"

"Don't," Malia said. 

"I'm sorry," Lydia said. 

"We're not together any more," Malia said. 

"You -"

"Don't," Malia repeated. Lydia listened. 

"We need to look into these murders," Malia said. "If they're the hunters or Douglas."

"Right," Lydia said. "And Lydia?" Malia said. "Don't bring it up again."

"Okay," Lydia said. 

"And Lydia?" Malia said. "I don't want to know if you do it again."

Lydia nodded, mutely. That, it seemed, was that.

(At the time.)

* * *

"I loved you, you know," Malia said. Stiles paused, turned around. 

"Why did you break up with me?" She asked. "The truth, Stiles. Please."

"I couldn't - I  _killed him,_ Malia," Stiles said. "I couldn't - you didn't -"

"I didn't care, because you killed him in self-defence," Malia said. "And guess fucking what? I wouldn't have cared if it wasn't. Because he - he was  _dead set_ on killing someone you loved, and he was dead set on ruining your life, and god, but Stiles, I can't care if someone like that dies. No matter how."

" _I couldn't deal with that,"_ Stiles said. "It's - it was my fault, Malia, our break-up. It always was."

"You didn't it feel like that," Malia said. "You made me feel to blame. And then you had the - you said I wasn't talking to  _you_ when it was the  _other way around,_ Stiles and -"

"I know," Stiles said. "God, Malia,  _I know._ "

" _Why?"_ Malia stared at him. "We - we were  _good,_ Stiles. We had it good."

Stiles closed his eyes and looked away, licked his lips in nervousness. A familiar habit. "It's not enough," Stiles said, "But... I wasn't in a good place. Mentally."

"Neither was I," Malia said, sharply. "But I didn't try and break up with  _you."_

Stiles flinched, minutely. Malia closed her eyes momentarily and glanced away. 

"Reasons don't have to be good ones," Stiles said. "Sometimes people - they just do the wrong shit at the wrong time. Sometimes - sometimes they... they don't do something when they should. And sometimes that's - that's enough."

"Like tell the truth?" Malia asked. "And never ask?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Stiles said. "I'm not letting you take all the blame," Malia said. "I'd guessed, by that point. I'd guessed  _long before_ that point. You should've told me. I should've said something. We both made mistakes, Stiles."

"I made more," Stiles said, firmly, unyielding. "Maybe from your point of view," Malia said. "We all blame ourselves the most."

"You never slept with my best friend," Stiles said. "Shortly after we broke up."

"You slept with Lydia a few months later," Malia said. "I slept with Scott during the Anuk-Ite's war. We're even, I think."

Stiles laughed. It wasn't a pretty sound - it wasn't like his genuine one. "I guess so," Stiles said. Malia felt at that moment it was either laugh or cry, and she could smell the same on Stiles. She didn't want to do either, though. She didn't want to think about how they'd completely fucked everything up, on both ends. 

"And for the record," Malia added before she left the room. "Kira's my best friend."

"Was." Stiles murmured, quiet but not quiet _enough_. "I'm going to see her again," Malia said, sharply.  _Then,_ and only then, she left Stiles' bedroom. 

"That's as likely as me being friends with Theo," Stiles said, and Malia closed her eyes in the hallway.

"That's more likely than you'd think," She muttered, though he couldn't hear, then went downstairs. Still - Stiles was very, very stubborn. There was a hollow feeling in her gut that figured... well. He was right about a lot of things... 

He was probably right about Kira, too. About the likelihood of Malia ever seeing her again. 

* * *

 

"Trouble in paradise?" Theo asked. 

"Shut the fuck up," Stiles snapped. Theo watched, for a moment, as Stiles carefully disassembled one of the guns he kept hidden around the house. 

"I couldn't help but overhear," Theo said. "You and Malia broke up?  _Permanently?_ "

Theo hadn't honestly thought it'd be permanently. Not with him out of the picture to make certain that that was the case.

"Yes," Stiles snapped. "And I'm sure you're plenty elated about that, but if you don't mind, I'm doing maintenance here, so if you could leave me alone for a few - oh, centuries, that would be  _great."_

"You don't have centuries to be left alone for," Theo pointed out.

"Perfect!" Stiles said. "Less of a chance to see you around, then. Get the fuck out of my room, Raeken."

Theo shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "No," He stated, flatly. 

"No?" Stiles asked. " _No_?" Stiles stood, faced Theo. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes," Theo said, standing. There was the click of a gun as it was cocked back, and Theo blinked, turned his head. 

"He said get out," Cora said, and she sounded bored. Theo didn't really know her - he hadn't needed to do any recon on a girl that had been here a few weeks, then left, long before he'd arrived. 

"You won't shoot me," Theo said. "Not to kill," Cora agreed. "Maybe your leg, though. Your arm... Malia's survived a shotgun to the gut; as you're a werecoyote-werewolf chimaera, I'm sure you'd survive the same. If not worse."

"... Fine," Theo said. "I'll leave."

"Great," Cora said. "Let's get you to your room."

She grabbed him by the arm and with the strength he'd expect from a beta his age, she dragged him from the room.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, you know," Cora said, as she deposited him on his bed. "Lydia's, Malia's, mine,  _Stiles' -_ our combined patience can only run so thin."

"You won't kill me," Theo said. "You think so?" Cora said. She held the gun with expertise and familiarity; this was not the first time she'd held this particular gun, and with the way her fingers held steady, she was not afraid of shooting it. "Scott's still an innocent in terms of murder," Cora said. "But the rest of us? It takes a lot to keep a specific person's hands' clean during a  _war,_ Raeken. And we were at war. Two and a half years of it." She stared at him, blank-faced and blank-scented. Lydia's perfume and soap and Stiles' shampoo and the clothes she shared with Lydia and Malia overpowered the girl's own scent, and she knew it. 

"How many, then?" Theo asked. "Enough." She said, shortly, flatly, dangerously. Cora placed the barrel of the gun on his shoulder and leaned forward, pressing it into the cotton of his t-shirt and doing so hard enough that he felt it dig into the skin underneath, stopped only by his collarbone. 

"I will kill you if I have to," Cora said. "I care about these people. And I know now that that's not a weakness. If you so much as lay a finger on  _any_ of them," She pressed the gun harder into his shoulder, "I will put you six-feet under  _myself."_

"I don't want to hurt them," Theo said. "I just wanna live."

"Then do what we say," Cora said. "When we say it. And make yourself useful, and when it's wanted - make yourself scarce. But never,  _ever,_ without company and explicit instruction,  _leave this house._ Understood?"

"Understood," Theo said. He hadn't lied. He just wants to live. But at least if he does do something _out of line_ , he knows now that if it was a choice between Stiles and Cora, to let her get to Theo first.

That way, there's no chance of going back  _there._ Ever. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway!! The heats turnin' up, I say.

**Author's Note:**

> I think as chapters go along, what happened in this 'verse's season 5 will reveal itself in memories, dreams, flashbacks, conversations, etc. We'll see. This'll only be a short fic, as I'm keeping the word count down for this verse. I'm just trying to get the plot bunnies rolling for everything else, but I also want to get fics out, you know, so people don't think I'm dead or some shite, so this is kinda a decision based on having Ideas on how this will go and needing to put some stuff out while working on my other fics. Next couple uploads'll probably be the start of an Oxenfree thing, then maybe TAE or Social Media AU will get another update, (Maybe not, I should probably figure out a name for that first) and then PERHAPS I'll figure some other stuff out, but no promises. Because I'm shit at commitments like this, apparently.


End file.
